


mirror image

by thespacebetweenstars



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not kidding about spoilers- the beginning is essentially the same events as the episode itself, M/M, carlos's perspective on what happened, cw: blood, cw: injury, episode 171 - go to the mirror?, no beta we die like interns, spoilers for 171 !!, there's a major character death but it's an alternate version of said character?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28180167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespacebetweenstars/pseuds/thespacebetweenstars
Summary: Cecil looks in the mirror.
Relationships: Carlos/Cecil Palmer
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	mirror image

**Author's Note:**

> Aside from the many, many theories I had upon listening to this episode, on of my main thoughts was "Cecil needs a hug."  
> So I finally got around to writing that c: enjoy

The cloth should not have fallen.  
  
It was secured tight, Cecil was sure. He had to be sure. One has to be certain of the protections around us, or stability becomes a myth.  
  
The cloth should not have fallen.  
  
And yet, the mirrored glass stood, shining with the low moonlight reflecting off its surface. It captured each and every detail of the room perfectly- the couch, the rug, the wooden paneling. Cecil as he passed by.  
  
His footsteps stopped. His gaze caught on the reflective surface.  
  
And he  
  
Could.   
  
Not.   
  
Look.   
  
Away.  
  
Heart caught in a panicked pace, thoughts raced through his head. Questions, questions.  
  
Was that creature there before? Just a second prior, when the mirror first caught his glance? Could he feel it breathing on his shoulder, or was that just a trick of the light?  
  
Cecil stared at himself instead. A mirror image he so rarely saw- save for when it was eyeless, covered in blood, and smiling far too wide.  
  
No, this..  
  
Had his eyes always been violet? No, not quite violet. They were dark, dark as the moment he looked into the mirror. An image of the sand wastes at night. The void between the stars. They didn’t shine. There was not a luminescence to them that reminded him of the purple gleam over the stars at dusk. That wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.  
  
His mind ran wild with thoughts, and somewhere, somehow, in a small radio booth not far from here, a receiver started whirring. Quietly broadcasting a stream-of-consciousness message.  
  
The mirror captured every detail perfectly.  
  
All except one.  
  
The table. Tarnished, ornate, intangible. It was not in his world.  
  
But it was in the mirror’s.  
  
It caught his heart like a fish on a line, a journalist’s curiosity nagging at the back of his head.  
  
Was he willing to break something?  
  
Cecil’s hand wrapped around the umbrella on the dresser, the cold, metal handle seeping the subtle warmth from his skin.  
  
He found that the answer was yes.  
  
Why did he take his eyes off of the creature? Was its claws in his skin?

Why was he screaming?  
  
  
  
The glass shattered in an ear splitting crash. The umbrella smashed the surface, and passed through. His head swam with fatigue, a sharp ache in his neck-  
  
Until there wasn’t.  
  
He was standing on the other side, heart racing, trapped between his ribs. His breath came in quiet pants, quick and seamless. When he inhaled, his breath shook. Unsteady.  
  
Cecil glanced back.  
  
And his blood ran cold.  
  
Cecil’s eyes slowly drifted from the body, crumpled on the ground, to his hand. Sharp bits of glass were embedded in his skin, blood welling at each point. Reflective shards.  
  
The mirror was whole.  
  
There was a blanket on the couch. An old one, ratty but solid. Just next to the table. Was the table always there? Why did he not look in the drawer?  
  
Cecil swooped the fabric over the mirror, securing it behind the wooden frame, and just before the blanket covered the glass completely, he saw his dead and empty form, collapsed on the ground. His glazed eyes. Dark as shadow. Black as night. In truth, the violet gleam had drained from his own gaze. A reflection of himself.  
  
Somewhere, somehow, a broadcast stopped.  
  
Stream-of-consciousness, ended.  
  
He took a step back, shaking.  
  
  
“.. Cecil?”  
  
  
Carlos’s voice. Cecil turned, and he stood there, in the hall. His dark eyes looked from him to the mirror, and-  
  
The bottom of the mirror was still uncovered.  
  
Bile rose in Cecil’s throat, flinching away at the thick, dark blood crusted over his reflection’s skin. There was a pressure behind his eyes.  
  
The color drained from Carlos’s face.   
  
He blinked, then looked at Cecil, scanning his expression. His eyes widened. “Hey, I’ll- I’ll get a longer blanket, okay?” His voice shook, though it was soft. His hand found Cecil's shoulder, subtly reassuring. “You can sit down.” He began gently guiding him to the couch, and that was when Cecil blacked out.  
  
  
  
The next sensation he was aware of was the gashes- sharp, painful, shards digging into his palm. They pinched each time he moved, drawing his legs closer to himself. He stared, gaze pinpointed on the far side of the room as he pushed himself back into the cushion. His mind was a buzz of static, unable to think or focus or think or- His mind was- Memories rose and fell, forming and slipping away before he could focus on them. He stared, gaze pinpointed. A buzz like static.  
  
It was impossible to tell how much time had passed.  
  
  
  
There was movement.  
  
He blinked. Glanced up.  
  
Carlos sat on the couch beside him. A small basket in his hands. Plastic. They kept their first-aid supplies in there. Next to the towels. Don’t think about the drawer.  
  
“ _Hey_ .” His hand brushed over Cecil’s shoulder, the touch grounding him to this Earth.  
  
Cecil looked at him. It wasn’t until he blinked that he noticed the wetness on his eyelashes, the streams down his cheeks. “.. _Carlos?_ ” His voice squeaked.  
  
“I’m here.” He nodded. “Can I see your hand?”  
  
Cecil’s gaze drifted to the mirror. It was covered, as it should be. Secured tight around the wooden frame.  
  
“Cecil?”  
  
“Mhm,” he offered his palm.  
  
Carlos leaned closer. He brushed the tears from his cheek, fingers lingering where they cradled his jaw. Cecil leaned into the touch, letting his eyes flutter closed.  
  
Carlos’s hand fell, gently stabilizing Cecil’s as he retrieved a pair of tweezers. Cecil knew he needed both hands, and he regretted this simple fact.  
  
  
  
The glass was collected in a small glass, and the cuts were sterilized. Each one stung, drawing an inward hiss from Cecil. Carlos just leaned forward to kiss his knuckle, a simple comfort, before continuing with the bandages.  
  
  
  
White cloth wrapped around his hand, Cecil watched the dark liquid seep into the pale fabric. He leaned against Carlos as the scientist wrapped his arms around him, fingers curling around his waist. He pressed his face into Cecil’s hair, drawing in a simple, fearful breath. Holding onto what he almost lost.  
  
Pressing a brief kiss to Cecil’s crown, Carlos leaned back to peer at him.  
  
“.. Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
To his surprise, Cecil shook his head. His throat felt cold, clammed with a sensation like ice. “.. I can talk later.” And how he would talk, words flowing from him as they always did, but this time backed by fear, a shaky quality to his voice. “Comfort, for now?” Cecil peered at him hopefully.  
  
Carlos smiled warmly. “Of course.” Leaning back in, he pulled Cecil towards the back of the couch so he could lean against him, holding the radio host a little closer.  
  
Cecil let his eyes rest, basking in the subtle warmth from Carlos’s chest. He could face the fear later, that little shard of ice in his veins. Now was a time of healing. A time of comfort.  
  
Cecil took Carlos’s hand with his uninjured one and pressed a kiss to the back of it. In turn, Carlos intertwined his fingers with Cecil’s as Cecil sighed, letting the held tension drain from his bones. Warmth held where they touched.  
  
The night was cold, outside, a chill that could not reach them. It was late, and very few heard the broadcast.  
  
One of those was a scientist, who always kept a radio near.  
  
And now he held the host in his arms. Eventually, the mystery of it would nag at him, and he might be tempted to experiment on the mirror.  
  
But he could be a scientist again later.  
  
Cecil was here, and now.   
  
He knew this: if there was another Cecil on the other side of that mirror, then there was another Carlos. One who had stepped into the hallway at the exact same time he did, their footsteps in perfect sync. One who had not found a Cecil: shaking and terrified, but still breathing nonetheless. Instead, he had found a Cecil: lifeless. Cold.   
  
Carlos did not want to imagine what happened next.   
  
So he held Cecil a little closer. Grateful that, this time, he was not on the wrong side of the glass.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> comments are vv appreciated c:
> 
> 1/2/21 edit: fixed spacing. still learning how to use ao3 ^^  
> 
> 
> [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/somehow-progressing)


End file.
